Storm Rider: A Novel of Lasniniar: The World of Lasniniar, #4

By Jacquelyn Smith

A sacrifice made. A magic reunited.

Iarion paid the ultimate price to fulfill his elven destiny and save Lasniniar from the machinations of the Fallen One.

Now his best friend Barlo finds himself visited by a dream. A true dream—despite his dwarf status. One that shakes him from the mundane complacency of his life beneath the mountains.

But not even Barlo knows what strange and dark new places the trail of dreams and visions might lead him.

Explore uncharted lands, riddled with new dangers that threaten the very heart of the World of Lasniniar in this fourth novel in the epic fantasy series by the author of the Fatal Empire series, Jacquelyn Smith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WaywardScribe Press
• Release date: Aug 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987879936

Jacquelyn Smith

Jacquelyn Smith writes both epic and intrigue-based fantasy, and mysteries that range from cozy to kick-ass, with independent, strong-willed heroes, in search of their place in the world. These heroes take the problems they face seriously (but never themselves), and are supported by unlikely friendships they forge along the way. Jacquelyn is the author of the World of Lasniniar epic fantasy series, the Fatal Empire fantasy intrigue series, the kick-ass Kira Brightwell mysteries, and the Mackenzie Quinn Canadian cozy mysteries. (She originally published several of the early Kira Brightwell titles under the pen name Kat Irwin, before killing Kat off to eliminate the many awkward questions about having a second identity.) When spending time in the real world, Jacquelyn lives on the suburban outskirts of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, with her husband, Mark, and their feline owner, Xena, who is definitely a warrior princess. To learn more, visit: JacquelynSmithBooks.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

STRANGE DREAMS

Barlo’s eyes snapped open. Slowly, the dark confines of his bedroom came into focus. He tried to slow his rapid breathing. Beside him, Narilga continued to doze, her light snores undisturbed. As the reality of the waking world set in, Barlo grasped at the details of the dream.

Could it be true?

As much as he wanted to believe, he didn’t think he could bear to have his hopes dashed. He had never had a true dream before. He didn’t know any dwarves who did. It seemed more like an elf sort of thing. Still, the dream had been so vivid. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

He wished Narilga were awake so he could talk to her about it. She would understand. But she looked so restful, it would be a shame to wake her. It would have to wait.

Barlo closed his eyes and tried to drift off, but the memory of the dream haunted him. His thoughts chased one another in an endless circle. Suppressing a groan, he gave it up as a lost cause. Moving silently to avoid waking Narilga, he rose from the bed and dressed.

Sinstari roused from his usual place in front of the sitting-room fire when Barlo entered. The wildcat stretched before looking up at him with blinking, green eyes.

Come on then, Barlo muttered, beckoning the cat to follow him out the door. Sinstari padded after him into the underground streets of Dwarvenhome, his mottled gray, gold, and silver markings blending into the shadows.

The city was quiet. Barlo smoothed his beard as he walked, in case he came across another early riser. It wouldn’t do for the Chief of Clans to be seen wandering the streets looking as though his wife had kicked him out of bed. Even though Khalid made most of the rulings these days in his stead, Barlo knew his eldest son would be appalled to learn he had left their home without so much as brushing his hair. Despite his cursory grooming, he met no one on the way to his forge.

Sinstari settled in an out-of-the-way corner while Barlo got the fire going. Barlo decided some detailed work would be best to keep his hands busy and give his whirling thoughts something to focus on. Drawing some polished gems from a strongbox, he sat at his worktable, and got started on a brooch for Narilga. Her naming day was coming up, and the sapphires would bring out her eyes nicely.

Barlo soon lost himself in his work, the images of the dream fading to the recesses of his mind. Hours passed before he heard a knock on the forge door. Fidar’s head appeared through the doorway, his eyes bright with excitement and his cheeks flushed above his dark beard.

Father, you must come quickly. Barlo’s youngest son’s voice was breathless. An elf is here to see you. An elf with wings!

Barlo leaped from his seat and hurried to put out the fire. He stashed his half-finished brooch in the strong box and urged Sinstari and his son out the door.

Sky Elves often served as messengers, but few had come to Dwarvenhome since the Third War of the Quenya. The realm of Lasniniar had been at peace since then. Barlo’s heart hammered in his chest.

Did the Sky Elf’s visit have anything to do with his dream?

The idea was ridiculous. But it seemed eerie that the messenger had arrived the same day. Barlo suppressed a shiver as he walked behind Fidar, who scurried toward their home. Sinstari paced beside him on silent paws.

Barlo followed his son inside. Even though he had known what to expect, the sight of an elf perched on a stool, his blue and gold feathered wings neatly tucked behind him, shook him. Narilga was serving the exotic creature from their best silver tea set. No elf had been in their sitting room since... Barlo shook his head, brushing the painful, half-formed thought aside to focus on their guest.

The Sky Elf stood. Greetings, he said. You are Barlo, yes?

Barlo cleared his throat and forced himself to speak. I am.

My apologies. My Common, it is not good. I have been sent by the Lady Iadrawyn with an important message for you. The Sky Elf drew a scroll from his messenger bag and handed it to Barlo. It bore the golden wax seal of the Ruling Lady of the Light Elves. Barlo’s hands trembled as he took it.

Narilga gave Barlo a penetrating look. Is anything wrong? she asked him in Dwarvish. Unable to articulate an answer, Barlo shook his head.

Everyone stared at him, waiting. While part of him wanted to rip the scroll open, hoping it was somehow related to his vivid dream, he dreaded the idea of learning the contents were about something completely different. As long as he held the scroll unread, both outcomes were equally possible.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He was being ridiculous. The message could be anything. He was Barlo, a practical dwarf and Chief of Clans. Surely he could open a simple message.

Peeling back the seal with his thumb, he unrolled the scroll. The message was short, written in the Common Tongue in Iadrawyn’s flowing script. At first, his eyes passed over the words without making sense of them. He read them again. And again. By the third read-through, their full meaning began to sink in. The scroll dropped from his numb fingers to land on the floor.

Barlo? Narilga placed a hand on his shoulder, anchoring him to reality.

Barlo gave a whoop and planted a kiss on Narilga’s lips. Her blue eyes widened. Fidar and the Sky Elf watched in curiosity as Barlo danced a happy jig.

He couldn’t believe it! Somehow, he had been granted a true vision. He had waited for so long, but now it had finally happened! Barlo danced around the sitting room, unable to contain himself, barely avoiding tripping over Sinstari. He wrapped his arms around the cat as the others looked on in bewilderment.

Narilga bent to retrieve the message. She read it in silence. Her eyes met Barlo’s, a grin spreading across her face to match his own. She ran across the room with a cry of delight to embrace him.

Iarion had been reborn.

PART I

245 YEARS LATER

CHAPTER ONE

A HAUNTED PAST

Iarion stalked through the underbrush on soundless feet. His golden-flecked sapphire eyes swept the forest floor for signs of his quarry. He had little to go on, but the last sign had pointed in this direction.

He came to a sudden halt. The forest opened ahead of him, the trail branching in two different directions. He frowned. No print or disturbed branches indicated which way he should go next.

Where are you?

Abandoning the lack of visual evidence, Iarion closed his eyes, straining his pointed ears for any foreign sounds. The forest around him was quiet—too quiet. His own passage should not have been noticeable to the creatures of the wood. The silence of the birds was especially suspicious. He could hear birdcalls in the distance, but none in the immediate area.

Iarion shaded his eyes from the shafts of sunlight that managed to penetrate the leafy canopy and looked up. Was there a shadow among the golden branches? His eyes narrowed. A slight shiver of leaves confirmed his suspicions. He looked down to hide a sly grin.

Thought you could trick me into choosing a path, and attack me from behind, did you? We’ll see about that...

Iarion made a show of shrugging and choosing a trail at random. As soon as he was out of sight of the tree, he circled back, taking extra care not to make any sound. His enemy was shimmying down the golden-skinned trunk of the tree. As his quarry’s feet touched the ground, Iarion stepped out of the bushes to press the point of his knife against his back.

You’re dead.

Iarion’s opponent cursed. How did you find me?

The birds, Iarion said, keeping his knife in place.

"The birds?"

They’ve gone quiet.

I should have thought of that. I suppose that’s what I get for pitting my wits against a former Wood Elf. Now will you quit jabbing me with that thing?

That depends, Iarion said. Do you yield? He put a little more pressure on the hilt.

All right, all right! I yield.

Iarion tucked his knife back into his belt and his ‘enemy’ turned to face him. Although they were only foster brothers, Iarion and Valanandir looked enough alike that most elves forgot the fact. They shared the same long, white hair, and golden skin, as well as a strong aura of presence from their previous lives.

You know, if this had been a watercraft or seafaring challenge, I would have beaten you handily, Valanandir said as he brushed dirt and leaves from his tunic and breeches.

Iarion snorted. As if I would be foolish enough to take up a former Sea Elf on that kind of challenge.

Valanandir threw a mock punch before turning serious. Most people already think we are foolish to be practicing tracking and stalking techniques in the heart of Melaquenya.

Those people have lived as Light Elves for too long, Iarion said, a familiar frustration rising. They’ve become complacent.

"It has been almost three hundred years since the war."

A mere eyeblink in the lifespan of an elf, Iarion scoffed.

I know, but we have had nothing but peace since then. Many people lost loved ones when Saviadro invaded. Too many. They want to forget and move on. Your dire warnings won’t let them.

Dire warnings? Iarion’s shoulders tensed. I just want us to be prepared. Saviadro may be gone, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any evils left in the world. We need to be able to protect ourselves.

Relax, I’m on your side. Valanandir held out his hands in a calming gesture. I am just saying what other elves are thinking. From a strategic standpoint, I agree with you. We should always be prepared to defend our wood. I just find it strange that you are the only one who seems to feel any sense of urgency about it. Have you... had any visions?

"You know my connection with the Quenya isn’t that strong, Iarion snapped. It will likely take thousands of years to rebuild what I lost when Saviadro murdered me."

I know. I just thought... Well, Iadrawyn hasn’t had any visions either. She has a stronger connection with the Quenya than any other elf, and this is the longest she has ever gone without being given some kind of insight. I had hoped maybe there was something more behind your drive to prepare for the worst.

Iarion shook his head. I only have this heavy sense of foreboding. I wish I could explain it. It feels like it’s been growing over the last few years. Does everyone think me so full of gloom?

Not everyone, Valanandir said. Mother, Father, Andirlynia, and I think there could be something larger at work. Iadrawyn thinks so too. Everyone else is fairly skeptical. It doesn’t help that you spend so much time with Barlo.

What? Iarion spluttered. Have they already forgotten how the dwarves came to our aid against Saviadro?

Valanandir shrugged. Light Elves have always been insular. None of them are as widely traveled as you were in your previous life, and no other elf has lived a single lifespan as long as you did as a Shadow Elf. They don’t have the same perspective.

Iarion sighed in frustration. He had already spent most of his previous life feeling as though he didn’t belong anywhere. He had always thought finding his connection with the Quenya would change that. But even as a Light Elf, he still felt restless and different. His only consolations were his parents, Valanandir, Barlo, and the tenuous connection to the Quenya that had always been missing before. When he thought of everything he had gone through just so he could be reborn into this life...

A sudden burning cold seized him. He clutched at his chest.

Iarion? Are you all right? Valanandir’s voice seemed to speak from a distance.

Iarion stood, paralyzed as the strange sensation spread through his body, unable to respond. The sensation was oddly familiar. The world around him faded and his legs gave way as a tide of darkness swallowed him.

What is this? Am I dying?

Any further thoughts were ripped away from him as the darkness unraveled into chaos. Raw scenes of pain and fear flickered before him, almost too quickly to absorb. Elves killed other elves under clouds of ash. He tried to cover his ears, but nothing could drown out their death screams. An enormous, black-scaled dragon rose from a gloomy swamp to fly toward him. Its slitted, yellow eyes glowed with malice. The singe of brimstone burned his nostrils. In the distance, he heard elven voices giving commands in the Black Tongue.

Just when he thought he could bear no more, Iarion found himself face to face with Barlo. The dwarf was lying on his back, his ax out of reach.

Iarion, please... Barlo’s voice was ragged and desperate. His brown eyes were wide with fear.

Iarion looked down and realized he was pinning Barlo to the ground. He tried to move, but couldn’t. His muscles remained frozen.

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening!

Iarion tried to close his eyes or look away, but he was held fast. With a growing sense of horror, he felt his gaze drawn toward his right hand. His fingers were wrapped around something so tightly, they ached. He recognized the familiar grip, but his mind recoiled.

The merciless force that held him captive gave him no choice. He looked at his fist. It was clenched around the hilt of his knife. Iarion’s mind uttered an endless scream of denial.

The blade was pressed against Barlo’s throat.

Iarion sat bolt upright in the grass, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His hair was plastered to his scalp. A sheen of cold sweat made him shiver.

Iarion? Can you hear me? Valanandir was crouched beside him. It took a moment for Iarion to recognize him.

What happened? His throat felt raw.

I don’t know. Valanandir handed him a waterskin. One moment, everything was fine. Then you sort of... froze up. You had this strange look on your face, as if you weren’t really seeing anything. Then you collapsed and started writhing and moaning. I had to pin you down so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

Iarion took a long swallow of water. How much time has passed?

Less than an hour perhaps? Valanandir squinted up at the shafts of sunlight. I wasn’t exactly keeping track when you started thrashing. We should go see Iadrawyn. I think she should take a look at you.

Iarion stood, shaking his head. I’m fine. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He was a Light Elf, after all, and the Quenya was nearby. With each passing moment, he felt his strength returning.

Valanandir gave him a level look. I know you saw something. What was it? Maybe talking about it will help.

Iarion considered it, but only for a moment. I—I can’t. Not yet.

Then at least talk to Iadrawyn. She understands the Quenya better than anyone. She will be able to help.

I’m supposed to set out for Dwarvenhome tomorrow to visit Barlo, Iarion said. The trip should give me time to clear my head. I’ll talk to you and Iadrawyn when I come back.

Promise?

I promise. Iarion gave a wan smile.

All right. Valanandir sighed. Let’s get back to the village. You need a bath and some fresh clothes.

Iarion fell in beside him, keeping his face a pleasant mask. He was grateful Valanandir hadn’t pushed him. His foster brother assumed his vision had come from the Quenya—the source of all elven life and magic. But Iarion recognized their taint. He had felt it before.

The vision had come from the Forbidden Pool.

CHAPTER TWO

NOBODY’S FOOL

Barlo leaned against the mountainside, looking out at the waving grasses of the Adar Daran. Over the years, he had taken to accompanying Sinstari above ground when the cat went hunting. It was a good excuse to get some fresh air and stretch his legs. As much as Barlo loved the mountain halls of Dwarvenhome, his feet got restless if he stayed there too long.

How the wildcat had managed to live so long was a mystery. At first, Barlo had given it little thought. Dwarves lived for centuries, and he frequently forgot his own seven hundred fifty-odd years. He knew the creatures bred by the Wild Elves had unnaturally long lifespans, but Barlo had known Sinstari for over two and a half centuries.

The only explanation he could come up with was the cat’s trips to Melaquenya. Although Sinstari had originally been Iarion’s companion in his previous life, he had lived with Barlo since Iarion’s death. Even though Iarion had been reborn, Sinstari stayed at Dwarvenhome, disappearing occasionally to visit Iarion in the Light Elves’ wood.

The magic of the Quenya must renew him somehow.

Barlo was distracted from his musings as Sinstari bounded toward him. He braced himself for an attack. Sinstari had a strange sense of humor. He sometimes pounced when Barlo wasn’t expecting it. Even though there was white in the cat’s fur now, he seemed just as strong and full of energy.

Sinstari sat at Barlo’s feet and looked up at him with unblinking eyes. After a moment, he stood and began walking south, looking back at Barlo over his shoulder.

What is it? Barlo asked. Have you, ah, caught something? The cat would often find something for Barlo after finishing his own meal. Barlo was apprehensive about these ‘gifts,’ since Sinstari’s taste in food was sometimes questionable.

The cat took a few more steps before looking back again. If Barlo didn’t follow soon, he would lose Sinstari in the tall grass.

He sighed. All right. I’m coming. Just don’t lead me into any messes. It took me forever to scrape all that dung off my boots the last time.

Sinstari glared at him, flattening his ears. His tail twitched.

Oh, very well. I’m right behind you. No need to get huffy about it.

As soon as Barlo started to follow him, Sinstari moved forward. Barlo had to use both arms to push the grass aside as he walked. A few moments later, Sinstari stopped, cocking his head to one side. Then he launched into a run and was gone.

Barlo stopped with a groan. Blasted cat. Is this some new game?

He tensed, waiting for Sinstari to pounce on him. Nothing happened. He muttered some choice curses and started to walk in the direction the cat had run in. The muffled sound of a nearby voice brought him to a halt. He loosened his ax in his belt. These were peaceful times, but you never knew when you might come across some of Saviadro’s remaining dark creatures wandering the lands.

Barlo moved as quietly as he could, placing each step with care. Whoever was out there, he didn’t want to alert them.

As he drew nearer, the words became more distinct. He realized they were Elvish. They were also being spoken by a familiar voice. He pushed the grass aside to see Iarion crouched before Sinstari, stroking him as he spoke.

Ah, Barlo, Iarion said without looking up. I thought I detected your light, dwarven steps.

Don’t mock me, elf, Barlo growled. Just call it ‘tromping’ and be done with it.

"All right, tromping then. I will admit, it is better than the way most of your bearded friends walk. It must be my good influence."

Don’t flatter yourself, Barlo said before frowning. You’re earlier than I expected.

Iarion stood and shrugged. I made good time.

Barlo’s eyes narrowed as he took in his friend’s appearance. At first glance, Iarion looked the same as he always did, but Barlo noticed small differences. Iarion’s golden skin appeared a bit wan and his eyes were haunted. It was subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice, but few knew Iarion as well as he did.

Iarion flashed him a smile that seemed a bit forced. What is it?

Barlo raised an eyebrow. You tell me.

Iarion’s eyes slid from his gaze. I’m just tired. Nothing a meal and some sleep won’t cure.

Barlo decided to let it drop. Well you have good timing, as usual. If we head back now, we should be there for supper.

Iarion’s smile turned genuine. What are we waiting for then? Lead the way.

The two friends made small talk as they walked to Dwarvenhome with Sinstari following them. Barlo kept the conversation light. Iarion bantered with him, seeming like his usual self.

Something was wrong. Barlo felt it in his bones. But he was willing to wait. Whatever it was, Iarion would tell him sooner or later. He always did.

Barlo let out a delicate belch as he sat on the couch with a tankard of ale. Iarion sat beside him, staring into the flames of the sitting-room fireplace. Sinstari was sprawled on the floor nearby, basking in the heat.

The rest of the house was quiet. Narilga had already gone to bed. She had developed a rattling cough a few years back when a fever had swept Dwarvenhome. She had tried several medicines, but she couldn’t seem to shake it. The fits left her breathless, and she tired easily.

Fidar would likely be out carousing until the wee hours of the morning. Barlo and Narilga were starting to wonder if he would ever settle down and take a wife.

Khalid and Ralla had visited for dinner when they had heard their Uncle Iarion had arrived. Both children had long since moved out and started families of their own. Ralla had just had her first child the year before. In a way, Barlo missed having all his children underfoot, but he enjoyed the quality time he and Narilga could now spend together without constant interruptions.

Barlo leaned back with a sigh, enjoying the companionable silence. He and Iarion had known each other for so long, they had no need to fill every moment with chatter. Still, his unanswered questions hung between them. There had been no opportunity for a private conversation since their arrival at Dwarvenhome. Iarion had been nothing but cheerful and friendly, but Barlo caught the occasional glimpse of that same haunted expression when no one else was looking. Barlo had said nothing of it to Narilga, but his worry grew. He waited patiently for Iarion to break the silence.

Are you trying to wait me out? Iarion asked in a soft voice, his golden and sapphire eyes still watching the flames.

I know something is wrong, Barlo said. I didn’t want to push.

Iarion gave a wry smile. You know me too well.

"It’s obvious that something has gotten you tied up in knots. If you want to talk about it, you know I’m here to listen. Maybe I can help."

Iarion took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. I’ve had a vision.

That’s not unusual, Barlo said. "You are a Light Elf now, after all."

The vision didn’t come from the Quenya.

Barlo frowned. What do you mean? Where else would a vision come from? A flutter of suspicion rose in the pit of his stomach, accompanied by a wave of dread. Iarion, please tell me the vision didn’t come from—

It came from the Forbidden Pool. Iarion let his breath out in a rush.

The Forbidden Pool. Barlo had been there when Iarion had drunk its inky waters. Barlo had tried to stop him, but he had been too late.

How is that possible? Barlo asked. You haven’t even been to the Forbidden Pool in this lifetime, never mind drinking from it.

Iarion shook his head. I don’t know. It’s as if it affected not only my body, but my soul as well, following me into this life.

It only shows the dark side of things. You know that. The visions twist everything around.

Yes, but there is always truth to the visions as well, Iarion said. I can’t just ignore them.

Barlo almost didn’t want to ask, but he had to know... What did the vision show you?

Iarion looked down at his drink. There were many images. It was too confusing to remember them all. I saw elves. They were killing one another. I also heard some of them speaking in the Black Tongue. Then I saw a dragon rising from a dark swamp. It flew straight toward me.

You remember nothing else?

Iarion looked up, meeting his gaze without flinching. No.

Barlo almost believed him. Almost. But he knew Iarion, and if the elf had seen something from the Forbidden Pool that involved him, Iarion would try to shield him from it.

And would knowing make any difference? Probably not. I can’t live my life based on dark premonitions. That wouldn’t be living at all.

Barlo pushed his thoughts aside, focusing on what Iarion had told him.

Where was this swamp? he asked. Could you see any other landmarks?

Iarion’s tension seemed to soften somewhat. It was too dark to see anything, but I got the feeling it was somewhere to the south. The air was very warm.

That makes sense. No one’s charted the south lands. There could be anything down there.

The last dragon, Malarin, flew over those lands shortly after the elves came to Lasniniar, Iarion said. She only reported a wide stretch of desert.

Huh. This swamp must be quite far south then. You wouldn’t find something like that near a desert.

You’re right... Iarion’s voice trailed off and his eyes unfocused.

You’re thinking of looking for it, aren’t you? Barlo’s eyes narrowed.

Iarion blinked. I—well, yes. For years, I’ve had this strange feeling that something dark is out there, and it’s only been growing. Only a few of my people believe me. The Quenya hasn’t provided any warnings, and the lands have been peaceful since Saviadro’s death. Most seem to think I’m only stirring up trouble, but I can’t shake this feeling.

Iarion took a deep breath. "Now that I’ve been given a vision that confirms my suspicions, I have to do something about it. What if there is some dark threat out there? I can’t take that chance."

Even though your vision came from the Forbidden Pool? Barlo asked.

Yes. Iarion didn’t even hesitate.

Have you spoken with Iadrawyn about this?

Not yet, Iarion said. I wanted to wrap my head around it first. I’m going to meet with her when I return to Melaquenya.

Barlo took a long pull on his tankard, thinking for a moment. How about I go with you to Melaquenya? I haven’t been away from the city for a while, and I always enjoy seeing Iadrawyn.

Iarion smiled. I would like that. You’re a good friend, Barlo.

Better than an elf deserves, Barlo said with a grin. Now why don’t we drink and talk about happier things?

Barlo shuffled into his bedroom sometime later. Narilga had left a lantern burning on his side of the bed. She lay peacefully under the covers, facing him, her animated features gone slack.

Barlo smiled. Even after all these years, he still thought her beautiful. In sleep, the fine lines that etched the corners of her eyes and mouth had gone smooth. He often forgot how old they both were until he noticed the silver in her long, dark hair and remembered that his beard was peppered with the same color.

He quietly undressed and slipped into bed beside her. Before he could blow out the lantern, her eyes fluttered open. She looked over at him with a smile.

Are you and Iarion having a nice visit? she asked in a sleepy voice.

Yes, but... Barlo struggled with how to explain his planned trip to Melaquenya.

You’re going away again.

Barlo sighed. She knew him too well. I’m only going back with Iarion for a short visit. He’s going through a tough time. It should only take a few days. I’ll be back before you know it.

Iarion’s not staying in Melaquenya, is he? Narilga made the question a statement.

Barlo frowned. How did you...

Narilga gave a dry chuckle that ended with a series of coughs. I may not know Iarion as well as you do, but I know him well enough.

He has a long journey ahead of him.

And a dangerous one, no doubt, she said.

Very dangerous, Barlo agreed.

Why aren’t you going with him?

For a moment, Barlo was at a loss for words. But I could be gone for months! And you’ve been ill...

Narilga took his hand. I know you’ve been restless again. You can’t stay pinned here forever. I’ve had this cough for years now. It’s not as if I’m bedridden. Besides, I know you would only worry about Iarion if you weren’t there to keep an eye on him.

Are you sure? Barlo couldn’t deny he wanted to accompany Iarion on his quest.

I’m sure. I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I’ll make sure Khalid doesn’t make any foolish mistakes with the council, and everything will be fine. Just make sure you come back to me. She kissed his fingers.

Barlo smiled. I always do.

Good. It’s all settled then. You can tell me all the details in the morning. Now why don’t you hold me for a bit?

Barlo held out his arm and Narilga snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder. With his other arm, he reached out to lift the glass globe of the lantern and blew out the flame. Moments later, Narilga’s breathing slowed once more.

Barlo’s mind wandered back to Iarion’s vision. What else had he seen? The thought nagged at him, despite his decision to dismiss it. If he went with Iarion on this quest, perhaps he would find out.

He was excited at the thought of another adventure. It would be like old times. Still, he wished it didn’t mean leaving Narilga behind. If she hadn’t mentioned it, he would have never brought up the idea of accompanying Iarion south.

Narilga stirred in her sleep. Barlo stroked her back and she uttered a contented sigh.

I’m the luckiest dwarf in the world.

Barlo fell asleep with her in his arms.

CHAPTER THREE

BLIND MAN’S BLUFF

Iarion led Barlo south through the Adar Daran, his mind elsewhere. He had spent a few days in Dwarvenhome with Barlo’s family before the two of them had set out. It was their third day in the grasslands. They had decided to take things easy, and now the Jagged Mountains were far behind them. Even though Iarion knew it was empty, the three-pronged tower of Mar Arin seemed to watch over them from the west. Melaquenya was a growing smudge on the horizon before them.

While a small part of his mind noticed the sound of birdcalls coming from the tall grass that stretched all around them, and the rustle of Barlo and Sinstari’s passage behind him, he couldn’t set aside the memory of his vision. Over and over, he watched himself hold his knife to Barlo’s throat while his friend begged for mercy.

Iarion simply couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. Barlo was his best friend, both in this life and the one that had come before it. As much as he wanted to unburden himself to Barlo and tell him everything, he couldn’t bear to do it. How could he possibly explain what he had seen?

No. I will keep it to myself and do everything I can to prevent it from coming to pass.

But if that were true, why was he allowing Barlo to accompany him? If Barlo went back to Dwarvenhome, perhaps Iarion’s vision could be averted. His guilt gnawed at him. He knew he was being selfish by involving Barlo in his quest.

Iarion also knew that trying to alter the outcome of such visions was usually futile. He had tried it in his previous life and still, many had died. It was a no-win situation. He wanted Barlo at his side, but he didn’t want him to die. Iarion was willing to believe the vision would come true one way or another whether Barlo traveled with him or not because it suited him, yet he wanted to prevent it from happening. It made absolutely no sense. His thoughts ran in circles, and he struggled with the nagging impulse to tell Barlo to go back home.

Barlo was stubborn though, and loyal to a fault. If Iarion asked him to stay behind, he would want to know why. Even if Iarion told